


This Feeling

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Dancing, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Gay Club, Insecured Sherlock, Jealous John, M/M, they just love each other very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: "Tell me a story, about how one night Sherlock goes to a gay club and he sees John there."





	This Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnwatso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatso/gifts).



> Once upon a time Christina asked for a bedtime story and here's what I came up with. Thank you for being such a amazing friend, I hope you'll enjoy this little gift :)
> 
> Thank you to Sarah for betaing this story!
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline

He should be used to this feeling by now.

And really, remaining sitting there, sulking, isn’t going to improve the situation in the slightest. He’s not even sure how long he has stared at the union jack pillow, but when he finally snaps out of it, night has long since fallen. He glances at the clock, two hours and thirteen minutes since John left for his date. Sherlock sighs, one hand coming to ruffle his hair. If the date had gone bad, John would have come back already, probably in a bad mood but nothing good tea couldn’t have fixed. But no, John is still out there, and really, there are things Sherlock wishes he could not deduce after all. He closes his eyes, sighing a bit louder. It was rare for a first date to go this well lately, John always coming back either truly hoping for a second one, or resigned and ready to move on. Sherlock, obviously, rather preferred the second option, but he knows perfectly well that someday the first date will turn into a second, a third and then much more.

 _And all the while I’m sitting there, alone_ , he can’t help but think. It’s ridiculous. It’s entirely his fault if he is currently in this empty flat, waiting for the sound of John’s key at the door. He only needs to get himself moving, going somewhere, anywhere but here. So he gets up, reaching for his coat and phone, and walks out of the flat. It’s only when he’s on the pavement, a cab stopping before him, that he realises he actually needs to find somewhere to go. He’s sure the cabbie would be just fine with driving him all around town, but then it would still be him and his thoughts alone. No, he needs to find a place where he won’t have to think, at all. The solution, in the end, is quite simple, and it almost makes him smile as he gets inside the cab. It takes a few seconds to go through his Mind Palace and find the most suitable place, giving the address to the cabbie and relaxing against the seat.

It’s not the first time he’s gone to a club. He used to go every week back when drugs were so easy to find in such places, but he has to admit it’s been a while since he indulged in simply _dancing_ for his own enjoyment. Strange, how being in the middle of the crowd can make you feel surrounded and yet alone at the same time. Music had always been the one option he could always rely on when needing to shut the world out, and it is exactly what he’s desperate for now. He pays the driver quickly when they arrive and he doesn’t allow himself to linger outside, knowing all too well how fast he could change his mind. The music is loud, almost louder than he had expected, when he goes inside. He leaves his coat in the club locker, looking down at himself and realising he’s probably not dressed for the occasion, but not caring at all. He’s not here to fit in or even mingle with others. A perfectly tailored suit will be just fine.

The heat wave crashing on him when he walks into the main room of the club makes him regret not having left his jacket with his coat, but he doesn’t go back, heading for the bar instead and sitting on one of the empty seats.

“What can I get you beautiful?”

Sherlock dismisses both the demand and compliment with a wave of his hand, focusing on the mass of people dancing in front of him. He plays for a time, deducing people here and there, partners or not, people who came in the hope of meeting someone, people who came for the first time, people who came simply to find someone to spend the rest night with. He looks at them all, read their life stories, ambitions and secrets, but finds that he does not care about any of them. Each and every one of those people, boring and without interest. He did not come here for them, but knows he’s going to have to become part of the group, part of the crowd.

“Wanna dance?” The man is short, dressed for the occasion, already sweating. Sherlock glares at him until he goes away, “Too bad.”

Realising how much of an easy prey he must look like, sitting at a bar without a drink, Sherlock finally decides to get in there. He abandons his seat, focusing on the music only and goes to find a place in the middle of the mass. It’s always been easy to lock himself in his own head, even when surrounded by so many people, and right now, Sherlock is alone in this room, alone with the music. He takes his time, his body swaying slowly at first, letting the rhythm settle deep inside his chest before truly starting to dance. He keeps his eyes closed, arms and legs and waist following each beats.

He calmly but surely pushes away every pair of hands reaching for him, every chest being pressed to his back, and ensures that no one comes to invade his own space. Song after song, he lets himself forget about it all. Sweat is pearling on his forehead, his shirt and jacket sticking to his skin, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, not until all thoughts of John are being pushed out of his head. First, his smile as he walked downstairs, already dressed perfectly. Then, his hands moving from newspaper to phone to clean dishes. Finally, his voice, quiet as he said goodbye. Slowly, letting John go, just for a whi-

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s eyes snap open, immediately finding John’s, wide and surprised. They stare at each other, Sherlock having stopped dancing, and breathing too apparently. Dozens of questions stumble through his head, none making it pass his lips. He takes in all of John’s body instead, hair damp from dancing, cheeks red and breath short. He’s been there a while, dancing, drank two- no three shots. For an instant, Sherlock fears John’s date is out here, one of the men in this club, a _man_. Heart sinking, he takes a step back but then notices the two different marks on John’s neck, men, plural, trying to make him his. _Bad date_ _then_ , _coming here to enjoy himself a bit_. Sherlock isn’t sure which is worse.

“What-” the music is too loud, and John moves closer. “What are you doing here?”

Sherlock should be asking the question, really, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that John chose a gay pub among everything else to spend the evening.

“Is everything alright? Were you-” John hesitates, eyes going from Sherlock’s head to his shoes. “Were you looking for me?”

“I didn’t know you would be h-”

Sherlock is stopped by two large hand sliding around his waist, a heavy breathing echoing in his ear. The man, tall, smelling of beer and smoke, purrs into his ear, “Don’t you look gorgeous.”

Sherlock is about to protest, telling him to go with a sharp deduction, when John grabs on the man’s wrist and yank him away, voice filled with anger, “He’s not interested!”

The man snorted, looking John over and smiling, “And he is in you?”

John doesn’t reply, glaring at the man, breath coming ever shorter now, and Sherlock can’t quite believe what he’s witnessing. The man moves closer, about to claim his waist again and saying, “Why don’t we let him choose.”

John takes a step back, looking alarmed all the sudden, glancing at Sherlock for the briefest second. His voice is shaking as he says, “Yes, yes, of course, he chooses.”

Still too dazzled by how much John just betrayed about himself in the split second that just happened, Sherlock doesn’t immediately understand what is happening. He watches as John takes another step back, the man laughing next to him. “No wait,” he all but yells in panic. “I choose him,” he says, moving away from the man and reaching for John’s arm. “I choose you.”

John stops, eyes meeting his and Sherlock is almost afraid of all he’s able to read there now. But he stays still, remembering to breathe in deeply and not trying to repress the shiver that runs down his body when John meets his hand in the middle.

“I’m sorry, I-” John begins, eyes roaming all over his face, and Sherlock pulls him closer, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he finishes, deciding honesty is his only option. John has always been bad at reading between the lines, and if Sherlock can now see it all clearly on _him_ , the least he can do is make it easy for John to see it too.

“Then, why are- Oh.”

Sherlock watches as understanding flows on John’s face, taking a look around. Sherlock is suddenly very much aware of where they are, of the people around them and their own stillness. John is still holding on to his hand, hanging between their bodies, and without allowing himself to think twice about it, Sherlock pulls him closer until they’re pressed together. He immediately drop his head to John’s neck and shoulder, breathing out deeply and letting relief wash over him when John’s free hand comes to rest on his waist. They don’t move for another second, and John is the one who starts to dance again, their bodies swaying to the music slowly. _I choose you_ , he had said, and John had heard it. _I choose you_.

“Sherlock.” John’s voice is almost too quiet, whispering into his ear.

Sherlock sighs, pulling their join hands up and between their chest, resting over John’s heart. He needs to feel it, to make sure John is just as shook, just as much affected by what just happened, what is still happening.

“I don’t understand,” John continues, lips brushing Sherlock’s neck. “Are you…. I mean, were you here to-”

“Dance,” Sherlock replies. “Just dance.”

John doesn’t reply but Sherlock can feel him relax a little. The music fades into the next one, quicker, louder, but John doesn’t change their rythme, holding tighter to his hand. Sherlock closes his own fingers around his shirt, struck once more by the pure need of bare skin, and the possibilities offered to him now making it hard to breath. He pulls away just enough to meet John’s eyes again, still looking amazed.

“You said… you choose…”

“I did,” Sherlock replies, keeping his voice as controlled as he possibly can. “I do.”

John laughs, a true, warm laugh that makes all the music fade away. He brings Sherlock’s hand to his lips, kissing it several times before detaching himself and pulling, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Sherlock follows him to the exit, not letting go of his hand, and he tugs them toward the locker to get his coat. John remains silent and close, their bodies pressed side to side, and Sherlock doesn’t bother putting his coat back on, waves of heat coming off of him. They stumble outside, not exchanging a word, and John manages to hail a cab quickly, pushing him inside after him.

“John, I-” Sherlock begins, too afraid of what could happen now that they’re _out there_ again.

“Home,” John cuts him, smiling fondly and sitting even closer if possible. “There is a lot I want to say, a lot I’ve meant to say, but let’s go home first.”

Sherlock nods, a lump in his throat, and he closes his eyes to regain some composure. John laughs again, quietly, and he places their hands on his leg, squeezing. Keeping his eyes shut, Sherlock waits only a second before dropping his head back on John’s shoulder, breathing him in. Time seems to have sped up, the cab already stopping at Baker Street and all too soon, they’re out again. John fumbles with his keys, his right hand still in Sherlock’s, but he gets the door open and they’re climbing the stairs up to the flat rather quickly. Sherlock is laughing too when they finally find themselves standing in the middle of their living room.

But then John is looking at him, truly looking at him, and all the air is being sucked out Sherlock’s lungs again. John raises his hand to his face, fingers tracing his lower lips slowly before threading into his hair, “What did you deduce back there?”

It takes a second for Sherlock to catch on, “Bad date. Looked for a good time. Drank a little. Danced too.”

“What else?” John asks, moving closer.

“Jea-” Sherlock inhales sharply. “Jealousy.”

John nods slowly, “The moment I noticed you, I couldn’t stop myself. Someone was trying to get closer, to dance with you, but you had your eyes closed and he wasn’t sure, but when he reached for you and you pushed him back, I knew I couldn’t just stand there and wait for the one that you wouldn’t push away.”

“Surprised,” Sherlock continues, John’s word echoing against the wall of his mind palace.

“Yeah, you can say that,” John smiles. “I didn’t expect to see you, and yet you looked like you belonged there, dancing as if you were the only one in the club, looking absolutely beautiful.” Sherlock closes his eyes, warmth spreading to his face. “I couldn’t stop looking at you, Sherlock.”

“You let your barrier fall down, for just a second, you let it all show and I couldn’t believe all that I was seeing, reading all over you.”

John sighs, his breath warm against Sherlock’s lips. “I was being an idiot, choosing for you, making that… man go away when it’s was entirely up to you. I had no right to-”

“Stop,” Sherlock looks back at him, shaking his head. “I would have done the same.”

“Yeah?” John breathes.

“Yes.”

They stare at each other in silence, the proximity of John’s lips to his own making Sherlock’s head spin just a little.

“What can you deduce now?” John asks in a whisper, having moved ever closer.

It takes all of Sherlock’s courage to speak the next words, “You want to kiss me.” John nods. “You’ve wanted to kiss me before.” Another nod. “You want more than just kissing me.”

“I want all that you want too,” John smiles.

“What if,” Sherlock begins, exhaling loudly. “What if I want it all?”

“Then I’ll give it all to you.”

Sherlock feels his legs give up under him, the weight of everything he’s kept so well hidden for so long suddenly wearing off, and John catches him by the waist, chuckling, “Maybe we should sit down.”

“No,” Sherlock says, shaking his head. “Bedroom.” John looks just a bit alarmed at this, frowning and about to say something but Sherlock smiles, “I want to lie down next to you and be able to hold you, please.”

John swallows slowly, Sherlock’s mesmerized by his adam apple, and he feels John tug on their hands as he licks his lips. They make their way to Sherlock’s bedroom quickly, climbing onto the bed after removing both of their shoes, and John immediately reaches for him. Sherlock goes willingly, his entire body melting into John’s, lying face to face. He keeps his head on his own pillow, remembering all too well what they’re both craving for right now, and when John tangles their leg together, Sherlock is _almost_ ready for the overwhelming feeling bursting inside his chest.

“I should say it now before I lose all sense of speech,” John says, quiet and soft, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

And just like that, Sherlock forgets how to breath again.

But then John’s lips are being pressed to his own, electricity bolting to Sherlock’s body, and his hand fly to cup John’s face, keeping him right here. They pull away only to meet again for a long moment, each kiss lingering a bit longer, until John’s tongue dares out to taste his lower lips, and there is nothing sherlock can do to stop the low gasp that escapes him. He feels John’s smile against his mouth, and next time, he’s ready, parting his lips slowly to let John in, and then neither of them can hold back moans and whimpers. John is pressing them impossibly closer, their arms wrapped around the other, hands exploring.

Sherlock doesn’t ever want this to end.

His entire body feels out of control, each stroke of John’s hand against his lower back sending thrill of pleasure down his spine, and soon they’re both rocking against the other. Sherlock has no idea where and when he became erect, but he doesn’t care because there is an answering bulge in John’s jeans, frotting against his own, and the whole world has gone quiet. He kisses John harder, finding that he does in fact know how to make this man shudder into his arms, and this is his brightest victory. He only wishes to be able to do just that, again and again, for the rest of his life.

“Sherlock,” John gasps, having lost control too, hands now on his arse. “Oh god, Sherlock.”

Sherlock kisses at his neck, slowly, tentatively, and John’s entire body shivers. His own pleasure is being shattered into million pieces, months and months of dreaming of _this_ not living up to the reality of it all. “John, I…” he gasps, suddenly on the verge of coming, and he feels John bring his head back up, eyes locked into his, wide and full of something so very warm that Sherlock’s hips buck into John a few more times, coming with John’s name on his lips. Reality crashes over him in a second, eyes widening in shame, “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to- I really only planned on holding y- I don’t know wh-”

“Sherlock, shhh,” John smiles, kissing him quiet. “There is absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You can’t plan everything, sometimes it just feels good to follow what your body wants.”

Sherlock blushes harder, “But you didn’t, I mean, you’re still…”

He glances down, John’s erection still pressed against his thigh.

“If it’s any consolation, I was nearly there myself,” John laughs.

Sherlock tries to smile, but feeling still embarassed by how quickly things got out of hand. He should have been more in control, they had only been kissing after all, and-

“Sherlock,” John says, firm but smiling, “Stop worrying. I enjoyed this a lot, very much actually, and I would love to do just that again, right now in fact.”

Sherlock actually feels his body react at the words, and he can’t help but smile this time, “I could, you know…”

“Why don’t we wait a little,” John says, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw. “I’d like to kiss you some more, if that’s alright with you.”

“John, better realise now that it will always be alright,” Sherlock replies, grinning.

“Good,” John says, doing just that. “Because I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

Sherlock finds himself hoping he would never get used to this feeling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @[ggaypilot](http://ggaypilot.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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